When it’s directed wrong, Arthur Miller’s A View From the Bridge comes off as a dated melodrama about the unthinkability of incest. Fortunately, director Louis Contey at Shattered Globe understands it’s actually a piece about self-deception leading to self-destruction and thus is as much of a punch in the gut as it was when it premiered nearly 70 years ago. He presents the story of Eddie Carbone as Eddie destroys his relationships with his family—and ultimately betrays his principles and community—as one applicable to any family and any community at any time.
A View From the Bridge
Through 10/21: Wed-Sat 8 PM, Sun 3 PM; also Sat 10/21 3 PM; no show Thu 9/14; Theater Wit, 1229 W. Belmont, 773-975-8150, sgtheatre.org, $15-$52
When every member of a cast gives a superb performance, that, too, is a tribute to the director’s skill. But Contey has actors equal to the challenge of Miller’s high-intensity work, and everyone deserves individual mention. As Eddie, Scott Aiello is both pathetic and terrifying as he distorts himself to avoid the truth staring him in the face: that his love for his niece is less avuncular than covetous, and that his hatred of the man who courts her arises from scalding jealousy. Eileen Niccolai as wife Beatrice is the truth teller in the family, but like Cassandra, her warnings fall on deaf ears—not just Eddie’s but also niece Catherine’s (Isabelle Muthiah, persuasively innocent) and her lover Rodolpho’s (the ebullient Harrison Weger, quicksilver in his reactions to the charged atmosphere in the house).
Weger and Mike Cherry, as Rodolpho’s fellow immigrant Marco, manage their heavy accents with aplomb, and Cherry’s light touch with his role early on makes his final explosion all the more powerful. John Judd, always authoritative as an exponent of Miller’s work (I still relish his lead performance in All My Sons at Court Theatre), does what he can with the role of Alfieri, the lawyer who also provides redundant and ponderous narration to action which is perfectly clear on its own terms. That’s a flaw in the play, not in the production, which has none of its own.